Thyme Rosen, Danger Girl
by RoseRavenclaw
Summary: This story chronicles the adventures of Thyme Rosen. I'm planning for it to be a trilogy, but that may take quite a while. XD
1. Chapter 1

Ten-year-old Thyme Rosen fired an arrow at the target painted on the trunk of a tree. It flew straight at the center for a few feet. Then it curved wide and stuck into another tree, not five feet away from Aleah Lazar, who was watching her shoot.

Aleah's face contorted into what Thyme called "the look," which was halfway between despair and hilarity. In a few moments the hilarity took over, and Aleah laughed, joined by her archery student.

"Thyme, why can't you shoot straight?" Aleah sighed, still laughing, as she brushed her long blonde hair back behind her ears. "Where did you learn that awful technique?"

"From you," Thyme replied, grinning mischievously and doing the same with her red hair. Aleah could only laugh again and agree.

Archery was technically not allowed, and so the only person Thyme had been able to find to teach her was Aleah. Aleah, however, was not the best archer; in fact, she was one of the worst. She knew good shooting when she saw it, but couldn't teach it worth anything. So in the two weeks since they had started together, climbing the fence around District Twelve and sneaking out into the woods to practice, Thyme had learned almost nothing, except that she was doing it wrong.

"You know, I'd do much better with a proper teacher," Thyme complained. The minute she heard herself say it, she wanted to take it back- that would insult Aleah, who was being nice enough to teach her illegally in the first place.

Aleah, fortunately, was not one of those unfortunate people who are easily insulted. She just smiled and replied, "You're right, you would. Now if archery was allowed, I'm sure you could find someone more qualified to teach you. As it is, I'm the only one. And I'm a victor, well, a survivor anyway, so nobody suspects me. But I didn't win by my archery skills. I won by lying low, being careful, sneaking around, keeping out of sight, waiting till most of the other people killed each other off, and quick hand-to-hand duels with swords."

"Yes, but I'm not any good at swords," Thyme sighed. "And if I were reaped right now, I'd be the first one dead. That's why I want to learn to shoot, so I'll stand a chance if I ever am."

"You probably won't be," Aleah said encouragingly. "Your family is doing fine. If you keep up like you have been, you won't have to take out any tesserae, and so you'll have your name in the minimum amount of times. Gives you better chances."

"I wish I didn't need better chances!" Thyme cried rebelliously. "I wish that silly old President Snowball wouldn't have made up these ridiculous Games just so people would die! It isn't fair!"

Aleah shook her head warningly and put a hand gently over Thyme's lips. "So do I. And so do most people. But you can't be heard talking like that," she cautioned, hiding a smile at Thyme's nicknaming of the president.

Thyme nodded. "Sorry, Aleah."

Aleah sat down on a tree stump. "I'm going to tell you a story." Thyme sat down on the grass at her feet and listened intently.

"Ten years ago, in the thirty-ninth games," Aleah began. "That was when I was still Aleah Starfire. I was sixteen then, I believe. Anyway, I got stuck into the games, along with-"

"Mark," Thyme interrupted. "And you both went in together."

Aleah nodded. "Yes. Well, I went for the cornucopia first thing, grabbed the two things closest to me, which were a sword and a bow, and got out of there. Mark had gone off in another direction, so I didn't know where he was, and I didn't know him very well anyway, so we hadn't allied first thing. I wandered around for a while, just trying to stay out of people's way. Then, totally by accident, I ran into an alliance of four or five people. And, being the reckless girl I was then, I fired an arrow past one of their heads. I was aiming at her head, of course, but you know my aim."

Thyme laughed and nodded.

"Well, that alerted them that I was there. And one of them, David, I believe it was, found me hiding behind a tree and threw a knife which stabbed me through the shoulder."

Thyme whistled. "That had to have hurt."

Aleah nodded. "But the girl I almost shot, Angel, who was apparently David's girlfriend, distracted him before he could kill me. She marched straight up to him and smacked him in the face. And while she was yelling at him about the fact that they should've interrogated me instead of trying to kill me and scaring me off, I just got away as fast as I could, which wasn't very fast. So once I was safely alone, I cut off one of my sleeves and bandaged myself with that."

"And then you ran into Mark," Thyme put in.

"I wandered around some more and stumbled upon his campfire. So then we allied, and he taught me a few things about making fires. Or tried to." Aleah laughed at the memory. "'Lesson One, fire needs oxygen.' 'Answer One, I already knew that,'" she quoted Mark and then herself.

"We killed one or two lone tributes who showed up and tried to kill us. Then somebody, we found out later it was Beth Clover from 7, blew up the force field by shooting a weak spot. We thought it was an earthquake. Then the hovercrafts started coming in. Some of them were from the Capitol, and some were from I have no idea where. A Capitol one picked up myself and Mark, along with that group we'd run into earlier, only Angel wasn't with them."

"Where was she?" Thyme asked.

"Wherever Beth Clover and the other tributes who disappeared were. David eventually joined her wherever she was. Mark and I escaped, during which he separated from me because he loved me but didn't think I loved him. I went and found him and told him I did love him. Then we both came back to 12, got married a few years later, and have been living in the victors' mansion to this day. Even though we weren't really victors. The games just came to an unexpected end.

"But the point was, during all of this I became just as rebellious as you are, because of which I got nicknamed Fire Girl, and I wanted to get rid of the Capitol. Mark and I had a debate over how to destroy it. I wanted to burn it down, he wanted to blow it up. We agreed on blowing it up and then burning down what was left. We never did it, but it was something to think about."

Thyme smiled. "Maybe you guys can help me sometime."

"I'm your teacher now," Aleah said, "and if you're ever reaped I'll be your mentor. You seem like you're going to be a second version of me. And I hope that we'll burn down the Capitol together someday, Danger Girl."

And Fire Girl and Danger Girl climbed back over the fence and slipped back through the empty streets to their homes.


	2. Chapter 2

Thyme was again shooting. She'd been practicing for the last five years. She had grown taller since she started learning with Aleah, but she was still very short, only five foot one. Not that she minded- she was proud of being the shortest fifteen-year-old she had ever seen.

The years of practice had paid off. Thyme had become better at shooting than Aleah was. Aleah just came to watch her practicing out of habit. She was watching now, as the arrow left Thyme's bow and stuck straight into the center of the painted target.

Aleah clapped. "Well done, Thyme. You're as good as any career, I say."

Thyme laughed and curtsied, holding out an imaginary skirt, as she was wearing pants. "Thank you, thank you! I hope you're right."

"I am," Aleah assured her.

"I'm nervous, Aleah," Thyme confided suddenly. "Reaping is tomorrow, and I'm fifteen now. There's more of a chance that, well..." She trailed off, knowing Aleah knew perfectly well what she was going to say, so she didn't have to say it.

"It probably won't be you," Aleah said. "Your name is in four times. I know people whose names are in more than twenty times. It is really a shame. But you should be safe."

Thyme smiled. "Thanks, Aleah."

The next morning, Thyme and her parents walked to the town square. Thyme was wearing one of her mother's old dresses, a black bodice with a turquoise skirt. She was trying not to look nervous, to look the confident girl she usually was. But when your life depended upon a random draw of a name, it was hard not to be scared.

"Do I look all right, Mother?" Thyme asked for the fifth time.

For the fifth time her mother answered, "Beautiful, dear."

"You're really nervous, aren't you?" her father asked.

Thyme nodded. "Yes."

"You're only in four times, it's less than a one-percent chance it's you and more than ninety-nine percent it's not," he added.

Thyme smiled. He knew that she understood some things better when they were in mathematical terms. "Yes, Father. One percent."

They arrived at the town square, and Thyme went to stand with the other fifteen-year-olds. Her best friend Shyla Manel, a tall, pretty brunette, hurriedly claimed a place next to Thyme. "Do I look as scared as I feel?" she whispered.

"Sorry, but yes," Thyme whispered back. "Do I?"

"No," Shyla replied. "But it's all very well for you," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You have you-know-what with Aleah. I don't know anything about weapons. And I've taken out tesserae every year, so my name's in eight times."

"It's less than a two percent chance then," Thyme said. "I wouldn't worry." Shyla nodded and tried to get the terrified look off of her face, succeeding partially.

The announcer, whose name, Thyme remembered, was Allania, started giving a short speech. Thyme wasn't listening. She never did. Not, that is, until the woman reached into the bowl full of the girls' names. She pulled one out and stared at it intently, muttering something about messy handwriting. Then she smiled and looked up.

"Got it. Thyme Rosen."

Thyme heard Shyla gasp. Her mind started racing. Impossible. Less than one percent. That can't be right. In a daze, hardly seeing what she did, she made her way up the steps to the platform.

The announcer put a hand on her shoulder. "You're Thyme, correct?" Thyme could only nod mutely. "And you're fifteen. Awfully small, aren't you?" Thyme nodded again, then stood completely still, unable to meet the eyes of anyone in the crowd, while the boy's name was drawn. It was Rowan Sintar, whom Thyme knew very slightly. He was seventeen and a foot taller than her.

The announcer said something else, which Thyme barely heard, except the end: "...may the odds be ever in your favor."

That was when the reality of it all hit her. She was going into the games. It was ironic, wishing for good odds when the odds had obviously been against her. One thought kept bouncing around in her head, refusing to leave.

 _It's actually me._


	3. Chapter 3

Thyme hardly knew what went on after the reaping. The next few hours were a blur- a rather hurried goodbye to her father, a short journey on a train that looked like it was going to fly off the tracks at any minute from sheer speed, and then she was assigned a room in the hotel place at the Capitol, and _then_ escorted to the dining room for dinner. Rowan was very quiet, except for a couple whispered conversations with Mark. Allania, the escort, kept inserting bits of irrelevant conversation, trying to break the awkward atmosphere, but not succeeding very well. Aleah was the only person who talked naturally, explaining the procedures to Thyme and giving her advice. "Now, let's hope the stylists don't get any ridiculous ideas about costumes," she said. "I remember once it was all black outfits with absolutely no embellishment whatsoever, and then of course there weren't any sponsors, so, they had better know what they're doing this time."

"Yes, of course," Allania agreed. "You know, I think turquoise suits her, but of course that doesn't work or go with the theme. Whatever the theme is supposed to be."

Aleah sighed. "As I was saying, more likely than not the stylists know best, so you need to obey their orders. And whatever you do, don't be rude at your interview. Or make snide remarks about the president. You won't get many sponsors if you do that."

"I won't," Thyme promised, though the only reason she was agreeing was because she would most likely die if she didn't. Of course, she'd most likely die anyway, but Aleah had been through this so logically she would know what she was talking about.

"Now, of course you'll want to use bow and arrows during your training session, that's what you're best at, but during general training you should try to learn other things in case you can't get your hands on a bow. And don't be reckless and go rushing into battles. That was what almost got me killed."

Thyme listened to her mentor while absentmindedly eating her dinner. It was the best food she had ever tasted, but she wasn't paying much attention to it, her attention lost in the more pressing problem of how to survive the upcoming battle. No, _battle_ wasn't the right word for it. War? No. She didn't know what to call it. _Games_ hardly seemed the right word- she didn't even know why it was named that. Probably some bad joke of old President Snowball that _he_ thought was funny even if nobody else did. She suddenly realized Aleah was still talking and quickly snapped back to attention. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"I said that your stylists will be coming to your room in a little while to start planning your outfit for tonight's parade," Aleah said, seeming to take Thyme's distraction as absolutely normal. "They have to work pretty quick, getting the clothes fitted and all that. They'll also measure you for your interview dress, though you won't need that for a few more days."

As the talk went on, Thyme found herself getting more and more nervous. She was surprised at herself- she usually wasn't like this. But of course anyone would be nervous in her situation. She pushed back her chair. "May I be excused?"

"Of course, dear," Allania said in her high voice. "I'll send your stylists up shortly."

Thyme just walked around her room for a few minutes, not knowing what else to do, until there was a knock on her door. "Come in!" she called, fully expecting her stylists. But she was definitely _not_ expecting what those stylists would look like.

The first person to enter was a man, very thin and fully a foot taller than Thyme. He had a long, narrow face and pale skin, and blond hair so bleached either by the sun or chemicals that it was almost white. Aside from his hair, there was something very odd about him... Thyme had to blink her eyes and look three times before she believed what she saw- the man's eyes were _mauve._ An odd, bright mauve, with the tiniest hint of blue.

She had to redouble her efforts not to laugh when his assistants showed up behind him- two women of average height and weight, but looking just as strange as the man. One of the women's hair was a pale turquoise, while the other's was flaming orange. Both had forest-green eyes, which Thyme had to admit were pretty but still very unnatural.

Both women tried to push past the man, but he stopped them with a look, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. Apparently they knew what that meant and retreated behind him. He offered his hand, and Thyme, still a bit bewildered, shook it. "I am your stylist, Xailan," he said. "And these are my assistants: Edanna," indicating the turquoise-haired woman, "and Amateria," the flaming one. _Xailan, Edanna, Amateria._ She'd have to keep that straight.

"You are very lucky, Thyme," Xailan went on. "This year the theme appears to be smoke. Which doesn't sound very attractive at first, but trust me, grey will suit you perfectly. Now let me see." He produced a tape measure and started taking various measurements, with Edanna writing them down on a notepad. "Length, fifty-one, sleeves, thirteen, neck, two and a half, waist, twenty-five and three-quarters. _Don't_ forget the three-quarters, Edanna, we don't want her to be squeezed. No, let's do full sleeves instead of half. Make the sleeve length twenty-six." He continued measuring and dictating to Edanna, while Amateria, who had disappeared, came back with a bolt of cloth dyed a soft blue-grey, and held it up in front of Thyme, examining it critically. "Nope, not a good color."

Xailan sighed. "You are the makeup expert, Amateria, not the clothes expert. _I_ picked out this cloth, and it _will_ work. Besides, it matches her eyes. It'll be perfect, trust me." He added in an aside to Thyme, "She always says that about every cloth I choose," making her snicker. "Now pop off and explain to Thyme how to use the shower," he continued, turning back to Amateria. "I'm sure, being from 12, she's very confused by it." Seeing Amateria still hesitating, he added, "Now shoo," and waved his hand at her. Amateria rolled her eyes but followed orders and went.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, a few minutes before she was due to report for the parade, Thyme surveyed herself in the long mirror on one wall of her room. She was astonished at how quickly the team of three had been able to create the whole ensemble, and that included makeup and hair. She'd have to be very careful not to mess anything up.

She was wearing a long, flowing dress made from the blue-grey cloth, the skirt reaching almost to the floor. The sleeves were very loose, gathered in at the wrists and elbows. It was slightly off-shoulder, but the neck was still high enough for Thyme to feel comfortable. There were little red gems sewn into it along the neck, wristbands, and hem, as well as scattered over the rest of the dress, which she thought were probably supposed to be sparks. She also had red lipstick, and eyeshadow the same color as the dress (which she wasn't too sure about but Amateria assured her was very becoming), and her long red hair was in an elaborate braided updo. In her opinion she looked a bit too grown-up for fifteen, but if Xailan said so she supposed it was all right. After all, the point was for people to like her, and she supposed Xailan knew what he was doing.

As she stepped out into the hall, she saw Rowan coming out of another room. He looked very annoyed, and Thyme could see why- his outfit, made of the same cloth as hers, consisted of normal-looking pants and a shirt with floppy sleeves. Like her dress, the shirt had red gems sewn onto it. "Not too happy about your outfit, are you?"

Rowan shook his head. "Not at all. Floppy sleeves look a lot better on you, that's for sure."

"Don't be so tense!" a voice interrupted from the direction of Rowan's room. His stylist stuck her head out the door. "It'd look better if you'd relax."

"How does she expect me to _relax_?" Rowan hissed, falling into step beside Thyme.

Thyme shrugged. "I don't know. She probably doesn't. But don't worry, you don't look as bad as you think."

Rowan looked down at his sleeves and grimaced. " _You_ are a girl. It suits you. It does not suit me. Sometimes I think my stylist is a little insane."

"Well, a lot of the Capitol ladies are like that," Thyme said, thinking of Edanna and Amateria with their turquoise and orange hair and forest-green eyes. "They like weird fashions. Of course, District Twelve isn't rich, as a rule, but I like our clothes better than some," she added with a sidewise glance at a woman walking by with a very low-cut blouse. " _That_ is just silly."

Rowan started to agree, but stopped when he saw that they had reached the preparation room. Thyme glanced around warily. There were various other tributes inspecting their chariots, some of whom looked pretty intimidating.

The chariot nearest theirs was occupied by a boy and a girl in silver costumes, with intersecting geometric patterns of various colors. _District Three, most likely._ The girl caught her eye for some reason. She was tall with black eyes and hair, and looked like she had a touch of ancient Egyptian in her blood. She looked at Thyme and smiled. Thyme was debating whether or not to initiate conversation, when the other girl decided it for her by saying, "Hello, you're from Twelve, correct?"

Thyme gave a small laugh and nodded. "Yes, I am. And you're from Three?"

The other girl laughed too. "Yes. Our outfits make it obvious, do they not? Anyhow, I'm Mia Carter, and this is Julian." The boy in the chariot nodded in greeting.

"Thyme Rosen," Thyme replied. This was a little funny, her making friends with somebody who very well might try to kill her in a few days, but for some reason she felt like she could trust her. "I like that dress."

Mia grimaced. "I don't. But my stylist says it looks beautiful."

"It suits you, I think," Thyme said. "It looks a little Egyptian, doesn't it?"

Mia nodded. "The style suits me, but I think they could have done a better job of representing the district. Although I suppose, being the technology district, they couldn't think of anything better."

"Well, you'd better get ready," Thyme said, noticing the District One chariot driving out.

Mia nodded. "See you around," she said with a little wave.

Once the Twos and Threes were gone, Thyme started inspecting hers and Rowan's chariot. Rowan gave her a weird look. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure the wheels aren't broken or anything," Thyme replied. "We'd look pretty silly if they were. That could be a reason Twelves never win."

Rowan rolled his eyes. "The chariot's not broken. There go the Fives."

Thyme resigned herself to sitting and waiting, until the Elevens drove out. Then she started nervously checking her hair and her dress. "Okay, this is silly," she said out loud to herself. "I've never acted this way."

"You've never been in a situation like this before," Rowan pointed out logically. "It's a lot more stress than you've ever felt."

Thyme sighed and nodded. "I guess you're right." _Now what did Xailan say to do? "Stand straight, look confident, smile. You want sponsors and that's the way to get them." Right._ She took a deep breath and made herself look comfortable and confident. She'd done it four times back home, and she could do it now. She set her shoulders back, held her head up, and put a smile on her face, which was convincing, but absolutely fake to anyone who knew her. And the chariot drove out.

The gigantic room they entered, the Amphitheater as Thyme called it, was filled with people, many of whom were cheering. They obviously liked how she and Rowan looked, as did she herself. Against every rational part of Thyme, she found herself smiling for real at the applause.


End file.
